Page 63 of When London Snow Falls

This probably isn’t a good time to tell her Ben and I haven’t been on an official first date yet. Hooking up doesn’t count. At best, we’ve had an unofficial date after that, and then me being woeful a couple of times after that. Hardly a sterling recommendation of me. And—fucking hell, they’re trusting me with a most excellent, mint-condition van. Aren’t musicians expected to have shitty vans? I’m not sure where in the dating hierarchy between first kiss and first date van-borrowing comes in.

I start to sweat.

“You’ll have a great time,” Molly says cheerfully. She passes me a bag.

“What’s this?”

“Baking for the road. Some chocolates too. I hear you have a thing for shortbread.”

I cough, blushing. What else has Ben said about me? “Er, cheers. This is very kind.”

“Smart to head out early before the traffic kicks in. I’ll let you get settled in and don’t worry about the doors. I’ll come close them after you leave.”

“Thanks. You’ve been so kind. You don’t, um, want a copy of my driver’s license or something? How do you know I won’t run off with the van?”

She laughs with delight. “Ben trusts you. You can send your license to him if you’re fussed.”

“Well, it’s a highly unflattering photo. I’m still trying to make a good impression, right? I mean, the photo’s not that recent.” I stop myself. This isn’t the way to thank someone for getting up—or staying up, as the case might be—at all hours so I can get the keys. All of this raises more questions about Ben. “What I’m trying to say is thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good trip. It’ll be good to see you and Ben once we’re all back.”

“Sounds good,” I say gamely, the sort of answer someone without an anxiety disorder might say. Rather than“Oh my God, don’t leave me alone and responsible for this bling van.”

And at last I’m left to familiarize myself with the van and plug in my phone. As Molly said, the van’s smarter than most humans, it turns out. Judging by the kilometers, it’s not totally brand new, as in freshly driven off the sales lot, but new enough. New enough that it has under 10,000 miles. Enough to make my palms sweat on the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

After a private pep talk, I carefully drive the van out of the mews, down the cobble lane past picturesque sleeping mews houses, and at last navigate London to head west to Wales.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ben’s premium van has a kicking sound system, which shouldn’t be a surprise, since it’s owned by a musician. Because I have no chill, I play some Halfpenny Rise in honor of the van and Ben. Hearing his voice on the track makes my body sing too. It’s so easy to think back to that last night together, pressed skin to skin in Ben’s bed as he did his earnest best to warm me up after freezing my arse off in Camden.

Don’t get distracted. Focus on the M4, a straight drive west from London to Swansea.

I’m tentative with the van at first, but I ease into driving it soon enough. Molly’s right that it was a good idea to get out of London early. Even so, by 7:00 a.m. there are signs of building traffic, because London. Everything within the M25 is always busy. Sometimes, it’s worse.

By the time I hit the countryside, tension drains from my body. I’m practically euphoric by the time I’ve reached the North Wessex Downs, beautiful and open. Rolling snow-covered hills soon appear. For once, I can get a real breath in, deep into my lungs. Out here, anxiety doesn’t exist. Nobody cares who I am or what I’ve done. Even last night’s fight with my parents melts away.

Molly’s baking is delicious. I make myself have some self-restraint and not devour the whole thing in one go, saving some for Emily. I stop for a break outside of Bristol before crossing into Wales. By the time I pass Cardiff for the last leg of the trip before Swansea, excitement rises, and anxiety returns.

Will Carys remember me? What if Emily’s gran thinks I’m not doing enough for Emily and Carys? What if Emily resents me for staying in London to finish uni and leaving her full-time with our daughter?

Emily’s gran’s house is west of Swansea, in the village of Llanmadoc. Her gran, Katherine, has a small but beautifully restored stone cottage with views of the sea from the Gower Peninsula. Emily works part-time at a restaurant in the village. When I feel down about Carys and Emily being so far away, it’s comforting to think of them out here in this beautiful place that’s barely holding on to Britain. It’s the opposite of London, all fresh air and wind and sea.

When I pull up the drive to the farmhouse at lunchtime, there’s even a skiff of snow on the ground here, despite it being close to the moderating water. In other parts of Wales, like the mountains, there’s a fair sight more snow suitable for sledging and winter sports. But there’s plenty here for snowballs, and I bet we can get at least a smallish snowman built out of the snow that’s on the ground. It’s nothing compared to snow in rugged north Wales, or wild Scottish munros.

I retrieve my phone from its perch on the console, plugged in to charge. Taking the cord, I slip it away in my bag. I scroll through my texts, which chimed their arrival while I drove the last stretch to Emily’s. When I spot the latest from Ben, a sigh of contentment escapes me, even if we are so far apart. He’s thinking of me. And I’m already missing him.

Drive safe. Let me know when you get in. B xx

I wonder what he’s up to today, what it’s like for him to be home in Edinburgh. Is he out with his mates? Would he tell any of them about me? It sounds a far sight better than me going to my parents’ in Richmond.

Made it, lovely. Cheers again for saving the day with your brilliant van. Talk tonight? C xx

There’s a thrill of anticipation in my stomach to hear his soft voice in my ear, even if it’s over a phone and hundreds of kilometers. A man does what he needs to get his daily dose of Ben.

Once I get out of the van, the front door opens, Carys held in Emily’s arms. She sets Carys down and my little girl comes running like a rocket toward me. Any worries I had about Carys not remembering me—or worse, being scared of me as a stranger—are forgotten when she comes running, the ends of her hair poking from beneath her hat. Scooping her up, I give her a swing around and a big kiss and snuggle.

“Daddy!” Carys chortles with glee as I hold her in my arms, against my hip.

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